


sweat

by whereshiphappens (xiiis16)



Series: am i making you [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Hand Jobs, M/M, Slight Dirty Talk, Theo is in Devenford Prep, and plays lacrosse for their team, i guess, slight choking kink, there's no drama and no angst this time can you believe who am i, this is basically pwp but ok
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-31
Updated: 2018-05-31
Packaged: 2019-05-16 08:58:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14808255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xiiis16/pseuds/whereshiphappens
Summary: What the hell was that? What the actual fucking hell just happened?Stiles’ mind is all over the place. This guy, he’s…what the hell?“You just-” Stiles starts, stares at him wide eyed and absolutely perplexed, “you just kissed me!” he accuses.Surprisingly the anger boiling in his blood eases a little, taken over by the shock and confusion and indignation and Stiles wonders for a minute if that was the purpose of that.He only stares at Stiles with amused, raised eyebrows, “I did, how perceptive,” he comments. It makes the urge to hit him stay in place. Eighty Three takes a step away from the car, towards Stiles, “and I’d still be, if you hadn’t so rudely interrupted.”





	sweat

**Author's Note:**

> my dudes, i don't even know.  
> it has been a year since i posted anything/wrote anything substantial, i've wanted to write Steo for fucking ever and it never happened and then Softboystiles on tumblr [ does this](http://softboystiles.tumblr.com/post/174001261593) and i'm suddenly all over that word doc writing teen wolf with slight universe alterations. i dont know what sorcery is this either. but that's who you can blame. (that's who i can thank nfjahkej3hgnae)
> 
> this is unbeta'd and probably full of mistakes. but i do hope you enjoy this trash <3

 

 

 

Liam is taking his helmet off when Stiles’ fingers tap repeatedly on his shoulder and the older boy is breathless from the game when he asks “who _the hell_ is that?”

Liam turns his head to stare at the other team, and even though they’re all gathered up, he doesn’t need Stiles to specify exactly who he was referring to. The younger boy’s mouth opens like he’s about to form words, it moves silently while his head shakes slightly and he brings his shoulders up in a shrug before closing it again. Yeah, figures.

Number Eighty-Three takes his helmet off and sure enough, Stiles has never seen him before - or at least not playing for Devenford Prep.

“He’s, uh, I don’t know actually but...” Liam tries, “cute?”

Stiles pulls a face, looks at his team mate with an affronted expression before his mouth closes in a tense line, “Liam,” he says, looking back at number Eighty-Three with a frown, “Focus. He’s the enemy-”

Liam’s eyebrows shoot up in his forehead as he mumbles “bit excessive but okay,” and Stiles carries on with his discourse not even acknowledging Liam’s remark: “and you should know him, didn’t you go to that school like, last year?” Did no one pay attention to anything these days?

Liam shrugs again, “he wasn’t on the team when I left. I’d remember him I think.”

Sighing, Stiles looks at the player in question. Yes, he guesses Liam would remember someone like Eighty Three. The guy looks over and there’s a smirk on his face as his eyes lock with Stiles’. A little flare of irritation climbs up Stiles’ spine and his grip on his stick tightens. Eighty Three is the kind of player that really gets on Stiles’ nerves - he gets the doing everything to win, he gets the competitiveness, he really does, but this guy plays _dirty._ He’s too aggressive, isn’t afraid to hurt if it gives him the upper hand and has no problem letting you know that he’s doing it on purpose. Maybe getting on people’s nerves is his game plan.

Well, Stiles would say it’s working. He glances at the scoreboard that informs him that, yes, they are indeed losing to Devenford Prep. It doesn’t help with his irritation.

 

By the time the game comes to an end, Stiles’ ears are buzzing and he can’t really process much going around him. The hand that isn’t holding his stick is curled into a fist so tight his nails, even though blunt, threaten to break through his glove. The crowd is cheering, the girls in cheerleading are around the winning team while they celebrate with chants and the absolute _anger_ Stiles is feeling leaves him deaf to all of it.

His left knee and elbow hurt from the last fall he took, courtesy of Eighty Three who’s been particularly ruthless with Stiles. Halfway through the game, Stiles was convinced this guy had something against him, some personal grudge Stiles had no idea of, because all this aggressiveness just wasn’t fucking _normal._ But maybe - and much more likely - the guy was just a fucking asshole.

Removing his helmet, Stiles looks over at where Devenford is jumping around. Eighty Three is looking over, there’s a small - gloating, condescending - smile playing around on his lips that he directs at Stiles before he winks _._ He honest to god _winks_ at Stiles and with his blood boiling, Stiles starts towards him, all logical thought flying from his mind. But Kira is there, stick suddenly across his chest cutting his path and a soft voice telling him “whoa whoa, Stiles, take it easy. Not worth it.”

She’s probably right, Stiles knows it and his rational mind makes a come back, he thinks of his dad as he takes a deep breath. Looking away, they continue walking towards the locker rooms to take a shower and forget about this godforsaken game.

It isn’t easy though. Not even the water of the shower calms him down enough to vanish all the irritation he’s feeling towards this _Eighty Three_.

This isn’t normal. Stiles has perfect notion of that. He’s not a violent person, or at least, not the type of person that resorts to actual physical violence, unless it’s a matter of self defense. Stiles is more of words; he insults, he threatens, he mocks. He uses a level so advanced of sarcasm that most of the people it's directed at get stupidly confused and that brings him a satisfaction that he doesn’t really get from punches - _sarcasm is my only defense._

But this guy.

This guy got under his skin in a way that has Stiles wanting to punch him raw, wipe that fucking smirk off his face and replace it with blood. Stiles’ hands are vibrating with the need to curl around his throat every time he remembers every single blow during the game - _god,_ this fucking asshole.

Stiles takes double the time he normally would getting ready, the anger - that isn’t going anywhere - making him even more clumsy than normal. By the time he’s done he doesn’t even realize that most of his teammates have already left to go home. Yeah… no pizza to celebrate tonight.

His jeep is mostly alone in the parking lot. He’s taking out his keys while examining the truck also still parked near a tree there with a frown when, from around it comes none other than Eighty Three himself.

Stiles stops, looking at him. He looks back at Stiles as he opens the back door and throws his gym bag in, calmly. Eighty Three closes the door, lips parted, corners slightly turned up when he turns to Stiles. Stiles doesn’t move. He’s pretty sure that if even one of his muscles flinch, it’s gonna set Stiles off and he’s gonna do something he regrets.

He’s convincing himself to just carry on to his jeep, walk the last few steps past this guy, go home and forget about this whole thing. The pain in his knee suddenly seems to become more acute though.

Eighty Three crosses his arms casually, looks Stiles up and down and automatically Stiles’ senses are on edge. It’s a moment, less than a second, in which the atmosphere changes, the air gets charged- Stiles is gonna fight this guy. He smirks.

“Hi,” he drawls out in a low voice, instead, arching one eyebrow. It’s just one word, but it’s so charged with smugness and arrogance that it automatically shatters every ounce of self control Stiles might have had left. He storms towards this guy, ears buzzing once more, tunnelled vision and hazy _angry_ brain clouding all rationality.

Stiles’ hands grip his jacket and he pushes him violently against the side of his own truck, getting all up on his face as he yells “what the fuck is your problem!?”

It takes Stiles a second to process it, but the guy is _laughing_. Low, and so very amused, his eyes are hooded and all over Stiles’ face as he lazily lets his head fall back against his truck and a smile graces his lips when the laughter dies out a bit.

Stiles has no words for the at ease of this dude and his irritation only gets worse with the confusion setting. Eighty Three breathes in, “finally,” he mumbles, eyes all over Stiles’ face. Finally? Finally?! What was he, waiting here for Stiles to fight or something?

“Oh, sorry for keeping you waiting.” Stiles spits, sarcasm dripping off his voice, “was a little preoccupied tending to the bruises you gave me, you fucking-”

As Stiles talks the guy smiles, shakes and lowers his head, his gaze gaining an intensity that Stiles can’t read and interrupts him “took you long enough, _Stiles_.”

It’s the confusion that makes Stiles shut up. It’s the fact that this whole situation is not making any fucking sense in Stiles’ mind, with all the calm and relaxed pose of Eighty Three - he doesn’t look like he wants to fight. This guy is not making any sense and Stiles is distracted when he licks his lips, when his hand comes up to the front of Stiles’ shirt and pulls him in violently. His mouth is open when it crashes against Stiles’, no time to lose he sucks the air in and seals them together in a fierce kiss, before parting his lips again and attempting to take Stiles’ perplexed mouth from a different angle.

Using the hands still on Eighty Three’s jacket, Stiles jerks himself away from him, shocked expression on his face and a baffled “what the _fuck?”_ escaping his lips, sounding breathless. The guy looks at him for a second, takes in the expression on Stiles’ face and smiles again, letting his head drop once more against the truck, casually.

What the hell was that? What the actual fucking hell just happened?

Stiles’ mind is all over the place. This guy, he’s… _what the hell?_

“You just-” Stiles starts, stares at him wide eyed and absolutely perplexed, “you just kissed me!” he accuses.  

Surprisingly the anger boiling in his blood eases a little, taken over by the shock and confusion and indignation and Stiles wonders for a minute if that was the purpose of _that_. He only stares at Stiles with amused, raised eyebrows, “I did, how perceptive,” he comments. It makes the urge to hit him stay in place. Eighty Three takes a step away from the car, towards Stiles, “and I’d still be, if you hadn’t so rudely interrupted.”

Stiles takes half a step back, raises his hand in a defensive matter to keep the distance frowning at this dude, affronted. Is this for real? Is this a real thing happening right now in the real world? This… _person_ spends their whole lacrosse game coming at Stiles, being so unnecessarily aggressive and actually injuring him to, what, get his attention? What kind of middle school tactic is that? Who even is this guy?

“Who are you?” Stiles manages to ask, still affronted and not sure where to start to make sense of all this. He steps closer to Stiles who doesn’t move, and instead presses his hand against his chest in a firm display that he intends on keeping the distance. He glances down at Stiles’ hand on his chest, licks his lips and something in his face changes when he looks at Stiles again. It’s like he’s annoyed. Oh, that’s rich.

“Theo,” he replies nevertheless adding “Raeken” after a short pause while searching Stiles’ expression for a reaction. Stiles thinks for a moment, searches his mind to see if the name rings a bell, but honestly, it doesn’t.” Okay,” he starts again, all that amusement back on his face before his lids lower into that sultry look again, “now that we’re all acquainted...” and he makes a dive for a kiss again. This time, Stiles’ hand comes up in time to get in between their mouths.

“Oh my god, dude!” Stiles exclaims, perplexed. Was he seriously about to try and kiss Stiles again? With his mouth hanging open and frown furrowed indignantly, he takes this guy in for a second, trying to make his mind about him. He sort of regrets it immediately as he takes in the features properly, and his gut does this funny thing that makes him feel a little hotter all of a sudden. Annoyance colours Theo’s face and he rolls his eyes impatiently. Stiles isn’t sure if he is just that fucking conceited or there’s a considerable amount of crazy there as well.

What is it about the pretty ones always being crazy?

Stiles kicks himself mentally- no. No thinking about _the enemy_ as pretty, thank you very much. And no making out with him either on the school’s semi empty parking lot of all places, no matter how attractive he might be.

Closing his eyes, Stiles takes a deep breath, annoyed at himself - where the hell was all that anger now that he needed it?

As an afterthought he looks all around the parking lot. There are still cars here - cars that he recognizes from people he knows that are probably still around after the game. Imagine if anyone saw him kissing fucking _Eighty Three_ of all enemy players; exactly the one he’s been bitching about all game and promising to choke if he ever got his hands on him. He turns around to face Theo again, “what?” Theo asks, a little tilt in his voice letting Stiles know just how amused by this whole thing he seems to be. Oh, that urge to choke him comes back to Stiles, alright, but he regrets the thought almost immediately as he feels himself getting hot all over. _Fuck._

“You can’t just go around kissing strangers like that,” Stiles snaps. Which brings him back to, “and how the hell do you know my name?” Theo laughs; it’s so condescending. He arches an eyebrow and the look he gives Stiles is loud enough to resonate inside Stiles’ head with all its patronizing meaning. _Oh, honey._

“Brett Talbot,” he answers, “you probably didn’t see us, but we watched one of your practices,” Theo leans back against his truck again, lowers his head a throws a look at Stiles from under his lashes. “I asked him who the hot one with the ridiculously nice ass was,” he smirks, obviously watching for a reaction and Stiles absolutely refuses to even move a muscle, ignoring the turn of his stomach and he heat in his cheeks. God, it was getting a little hard to breathe normally.

“He said ‘Stiles, and out of your league’,” Theo straightens his back and Stiles frowns, gets a little distracted. The concept of Brett Talbot - actual Brett fucking Talbot - telling someone who looked the way Theo looked that Stiles was out of their league is… a lot. Unrealistic even? There’s not way Brett would’ve said that. There’s no goddamn way. “I think he said that because he’s a little into you,” Theo continues, smiles, “at least the way he got sort of pissed off when I told him ‘challenge accepted’ seemed to indicate so.”

Stiles does feel indignation flaring at that, but his thoughts get hijacked.

The hand Stiles rose previously wasn’t there, is the thing. And again, Stiles was distracted, of course, by this whole - very new - information. So when Theo dives in for the kiss this time, Stiles doesn’t react. And when the hot hazy feeling in his chest spreads all over his body he can’t help himself but chase it, his bag dropping from his shoulder to the floor, Stiles kissing back before he knows what he’s doing. And shit, Theo kisses like he wants to steal the very taste of Stiles to himself forever. Theo’s hand is on the back of Stiles’ neck and his thumb curls back around to the front, to tilt his jaw in whichever angle he wants - it’s kind of intoxicating how Theo is in complete control of this kiss, and Stiles just lets himself be guided. It’s kind of overwhelming how skilled his tongue is, with the way it brushes against Stiles’, caresses Stiles’ bottom lip, teases the roof of his mouth all so synchronized it’s like they’ve been doing this forever.

Stiles has never kissed anyone like this. He’s never fallen into rhythm so fast, adapting so deliciously to someone he barely even- he doesn’t know at all. _Shit._

With a gasp, Stiles pulls away and he can swear that he’s a little dizzy. Shit, man, breathing is important, did he forget that? This is - damn it, what the hell is he doing, really? He doesn’t really know this guy, and he’s saying all these things and kissing him like that and Stiles can’t even fucking _think._

So he turns around, his back to Theo and brings a hand to his face, “Uhh,” he drawls, blinking repeatedly. Yes, thinking should be easier without those fucking hungry eyes staring at Stiles like he’s the most luscious meal he’s tasted in months.

Fuck, if anyone sees him, he won’t hear the end of it. Especially coach - they lost, he’ll think it was his fault for being _clearly_ distracted by the other team’s members.

He needs to get out of here, that’s it. He needs to fucking go and never look at Theo Raeken’s fucking ridiculously gorgeous face ever again. God, it was so much easier to hate and want to fight him when he was fifty feet away and wearing an helmet. It was so much easier to be angry when that mouth was smirking at him arrogantly instead of ravishing Stiles. It was so much easier to think he was pissing Stiles off simply because he was an asshole, and not because he was an asshole who was into Stiles.

Stiles had a terrible fucking soft spot for assholes apparently. Because Theo is an asshole, coming on to Stiles to piss Brett Talbot? Fuck that, he’s leaving immediately, no matter how hot this guy is or how exhilarating the whole situation of hooking up with the _enemy_ is - _god,_ he did not just admit that in his own head -, there’s still a sense of pride that Stiles owns that is more stubborn than all of his urges.

He hears Theo growl behind him - actually _growl_ for god’s sake - and that doesn’t help manners at all if he’s being completely honest. Fuck, he’s just realizing how attracted to this guy’s incredibly arrogant persistence he actually is.

“Stop doing that, fuck,” Stiles says, and he’s not sure which part he’s referring to anymore. Maybe all. Maybe he just needs Theo to stop. Everything. Breathing even, maybe.

Stiles’ hand comes up, pushes his hair back from his forehead and looks around once more.

“Stop _stopping me_ when you don’t want to,” Theo answers him, and his arm snakes around Stiles’ waist to bring him back against Theo’s body until they’re both leaning against the truck and Stiles’ breath catches in his throat when he feels the whole of Theo’s body against him.

Theo’s mouth comes to Stiles’ neck from behind, straight to the point just underneath his ear and his hot breath sends a shiver down his back. “You would’ve punched me already if you didn’t want this,” Theo whispers, and for god’s sake, Stiles can _hear_ the conceited smile in his voice. He closes his eyes before he realizes it and his mouth drops open before biting his lip with a groan. Stiles’ hands come up on top of Theo’s on his waist, like he wants to prove Theo wrong, he tells himself it’s to take them off, to get out of his embrace. But he only grips his arms, not making a move to remove them at all. He’s distracted, he tells himself, that’s why.

“I still might,” Stiles threatens, although there’s no heat in his voice and he’s all out of breath for some reason. “You’re an arrogant asshole I don’t want anything to do with you. And if anyone sees this,” Stiles tries to warn him, instead - maybe he’ll be rational. But Theo laughs. Stiles doesn’t want to admit how it affects him and _shit,_ he needs to get away. Stiles shifts his weight on his feet and the movement causes his ass to rub against Theo’s crotch and the other boy lets out a sound that’s between a whimper and a moan.

Theo’s laugh catches in his throat, he hisses and a weird sense of satisfaction crawls all over Stiles at the sound, “Yeah, I’m sure you don’t,” Theo breathes straight into his ear and _fuck_ how is that fair. Blinking multiple times, Stiles closes his eyes again, his eyebrows meeting in his forehead in an almost pleading look that Theo doesn’t see. He’s trying so hard _not_ to like this “I’m serious,” Stiles whispers.

Theo’s right hand comes down from his waist slowly, and Stiles’ hand immediately reaches for it stopping on top of it, grabbing it but again not making a move to remove it. “Oh, my god,” Stiles mumbles. He’s running out of reasons in his head as to why he’s not making a move to leave _._

Theo kisses his neck, his left hand finding the skin of his abdomen beneath his shirt just as the other one continues moving down, with Stiles’ right on top of it doing nothing to stop it. It’s not like Stiles can deny how into this he is anymore. He jerks slightly when Theo’s fingers push at the hem of his jeans, teasing, and the movement is just right against Theo’s crotch - he feels him twitch and suddenly becomes aware of how hard the other boy is. Fuck, he’s _hard._ And Stiles is the reason for that.

He’s a teenage human boy, okay. And being wanted like this has an effect on him that he can’t really fight.

Stiles whimpers, as embarrassing as it is, and melts a little into Theo, who only grips him tighter against his body.

“Am I making you sweat?” Theo teases, “or do I need to try a little harder?” his hand slips right into Stiles’ jeans and the other boy gasps when he feels the cool fingers reach his dick.

“ _Jesus Christ,_ you fucking exhibitionist,” Stiles’ voice is suddenly higher and he’s opening his eyes to look all around them. This is his last defense - his last reason not to give in, “someone could literally walk past any fucking minute, are you serious right now, people could _see,_ I-” Stiles stops, turns his head trying to see Theo. “You get off on this, don’t you?” it’s rhetorical.

“No one would see us inside the truck.”

And just like that, there goes that excuse. But honestly, why was he even making excuses in the first place? He doesn’t owe anyone any explanations. And he’s… fuck, Theo is ridiculously attractive and into him so why… why was he depriving himself of this? After the shitty night he just had? Honestly, he deserves this.

No one had to know. It could be a one time thing. Right?

“ _Shit_ ,” Stiles mumbles, and he turns to face Theo, his hands leaving Stiles’ body for a moment. Stiles groans in defeat before, “Yeah. Okay,” his hands grip Theo’s jacket again and they meet halfway in a kiss into which Theo groans, pleased.

“There you go,” Theo coos, like Stiles is a learning boy who got a right answer. What a fucking asshole. The urge to hit him isn’t totally gone.

Theo reaches to open the door to the backseats of his truck and steps to the side dragging Stiles with him. They only stop kissing when Theo tells him “after you,” gesturing to the inside of the truck before offering his hand to Stiles. There’s a wicked little amused expression on his face and Stiles wants to smack him at the exaggerated and obviously fake show of chivalry, but instead he only pushes him, until Theo is laughing and inside the truck first.

He crawls in after him, and the second the door is closed behind him and the slight darkness inside the truck sets, the heat in Stiles’ gut drags all the way to his chest. Theo is sitting with his back to the opposite door from which they entered, one leg on the seat, the other bent, foot placed on the floor of the car and he’s taking off his jacket without taking his eyes off of Stiles. He’s biting his lip and hurrying, the look in his eyes is downright _dirty_ and Stiles swallows. Fuck. This is happening.

Theo reaches for Stiles, hand cupping his face, thumb tracing his cheek as he looks all over his face and a smile stretches his lips, “are you _blushing_?” He’s not sure if the heat reaching his cheeks now is from the embarrassment or actual frustration with this guy - probably both.

The laugh that escapes Theo’s mouth this time is soft and the most genuine of the whole night and Stiles doesn’t know how to feel about that. Or about the way his head drops while he laughs. _What the hell, stop it!_ Stiles wants to say, but the words don’t really reach his mouth. He’s trying to keep the whole Asshole With No Ability To Feel Proper Feelings idea of him and that’s not helping.

Theo is looking up at him again, biting his lip and his hand is sliding to the back of his head. “Come here,” he commands in a whisper even though he’s inches away. Stiles does, his lids drop when his lips ghost against Theo’s and they kiss again. It’s soft for a moment, before Stiles hears Theo’s intake of breath through his nose and feels his fingers tangle in the short strands of his hair to turn his head into the kiss how he pleases.

Suddenly, and breaking a little of the spell, there’s a noise outside - Stiles can _swear_ he heard a noise outside and he’s seen (and lived) enough horror movies to know not to ignore those. He startles and turns around to look out the window.

“I heard something,” he announces and hears Theo sigh. “Seriously?” the other boy deadpans.

Stiles only glances back a Theo for a second, frowning, before looking out the window into the parking lot again, “Yes, seriously.”

There’s a moment of silence, a quietness filling the car that goes perfectly with the partial darkness. Stiles is sure he heard something, but the seconds go by and nothing happens outside. He hears Theo move behind him on the seat and then his hands are on his waist again, slowly sliding around him while Theo’s mouth kisses the protuberance of his spine right at the base of his neck. Stiles closes his eyes as it sends a shiver down his arms.

“Are you always this on edge?” Theo asks him.

Stiles almost scoffs, “you have no idea,” he replies without elaborating. Theo’s arms around him pull him closer against him, and keep pulling until Theo’s back is against the opposite door again and Stiles is sitting on the seat in between Theo’s legs, back to Theo’s chest.

“Let me help you with that,” he murmurs in Stiles’ ear before starting to work at unbuttoning his jeans, Stiles’ breathing getting heavier. “I’ll take care of you,” he says, a lightness to his voice, despite the intensity with which his hands are working to get to Stiles. “You can keep watch if you want” he adds, mocking.

His hand finally reaches Stiles’ dick and Stiles’ breath catches before he can say anything to get back at Theo.

“You’re an asshole,” Stiles says breathless, nonetheless, his hips moving up and his hand reaching to grab Theo’s arm. Theo hums as he starts working his hand up and down Stiles’ length, “already established, yes.”

“ _God,”_ Stiles lets out in a laugh. This guy is unbelievable. And so is the feeling of his hand on him after all the pent up anger and frustration and adrenaline that was the game they just had. Or maybe he’s just that into Theo and this whole situation. All he knows is that the electricity coursing through his veins comes accompanied with a heavy heat pooling on his lower belly that feels way too good not to chase, no matter how much he wants to prolong this. His hips move without his permission and the hand he has on Theo’s arm tightens.

It’s after a very, _very_ well executed flick of this thumb and particular application of pressure that Stiles finds himself letting out a long moan.

Behind him, Theo’s hips jerk suddenly and he groans as Stiles uses his free hand to cover his own mouth, muffling his “fuck!” Immediately Theo rips his hand away, “no,” he states and there’s an aggressiveness to his voice that shouldn’t have turned Stiles on even more the way it did. “You don’t get to do that, I wanna hear you.”

Stiles whines - he does, he can’t help himself. “Dude, you’re- _ahh_ ,” Theo’s hand has no business being this calloused, and Theo has no fucking business being this intense. _Jesus._ “You’re-,” the tries again, “so kinky, _what the fuck.”_

Once again Theo laughs, he pulls Stiles closer, practically smothering him for a moment as he buries his nose in his neck and takes a deep breath, “were all your previous sex partners that fucking vanilla?” he asks amused, cocky.

There’s a certain aspect of sex that makes Stiles way too frank for his own good, “I don’t think one is enough to properly put the statistics together.” Theo stops moving for a moment and Stiles feels a certain level of alarm going through his brain. What did he say?

Theo lets out a breath and when he starts moving his hand again, his free one comes to Stiles’ neck, thumb and forefinger on each side of his jaw tilting Stiles’ head back and to the side to kiss him, hard. Stiles feels his teeth biting at his bottom lip and pulling just a little before letting go. His hand doesn’t leave Stiles’ neck - if anything, the weight of it seems more pronounced when Stiles swallows, open red mouth panting and glazed eyes looking up at Theo. “I could just fucking eat you up, you know that?” Theo groans, kissing him again, his hips working against Stiles’ body slowly.

It’s probably the intensity of Theo, the way he speaks of Stiles, how he lets him know how bad he wants him. It’s possibly also the clear feeling of being wanted like this for the first time by a guy like Theo. It might be the hand on his cock, working him so expertly and sure and fast, or the one on his neck grounding him, cutting his breathing just a little and setting his senses on fire. Or maybe it’s the setting, how they’re doing something that probably wasn’t a good idea in a place where anyone could walk past. It’s probably the whole of everything that’s going. Stiles isn’t sure. It’s not like he can think properly now.

But whatever it is, it hits him all of a sudden and makes him realise how close to coming he is. He can’t control the little sounds that come out of his mouth and that seem to be driving Theo insane.

“Theo,” he gasps, holding on to Theo’s arms, “Theo, I’m-,” the muscles in his legs start to shake, “I’m gonna come,” he warns. Theo works him faster, “ _Yes,_ c’mon, Stiles,” he hisses, and the hand on Stiles’ neck tightens as he keeps mumbling filthy things in his ear that Stiles can barely process.

“Wish I had the time to fuck you properly,” he groans. “Wish I could make good use of that ridiculous mouth of yours,” he continues, hips moving against Stiles’ ass, “was made for sucking dick, Stiles,” he finishes and his hand leaves his neck for only a moment as his fingers brush against Stiles’ open, panting mouth, making him whimper.

Then, it comes back to Stiles’ neck, cuts his air off “Come for me, babe, c’mon,” and that’s all it takes for Stiles to be sent off the edge, brain short circuiting, back arching and head thrown back as he comes with a cry.

His whole body feels like it’s on fire, an added electricity to it that leaves him completely oblivious to his surroundings for the long moment his vision turns black and his mouth lets out sounds he barely listens to. As Stiles comes down, his brain feels like it’s wrapped in cotton and his whole body buzzes. Slowly, he feels his heartbeat calm down and the world come into view again. That’s when he notices Theo’s fingers gently ghosting over his neck and he turns his head once again, makes to kiss him.

Before he does, though, Theo nuzzles his nose against Stiles’ and with their lips brushing he asks, gently “you good?”

Stiles can’t seem to find his voice so he nods and kisses him. It’s soft, it’s Theo’s tongue running against his lips and pushing in to caress Stiles’ own like he’s got all the time in the world. Stiles makes a little sound in the back of his throat and Theo breaks the kiss to gently nip at his bottom lip.

“You sound,” Theo stops, searching for the word. His lips curl into that trademark Asshole Smirk once more, “sinful.” Stiles has the grace to blush - he hopes Theo doesn’t see it this time. _God_. It’s like Theo wasn’t hearing himself at all.

Stiles looks down at himself then to notice the undone jeans and how ruined his shirt was. Great. Lucky he’s mainly the one doing laundry. Doesn’t mean he can leave this truck with that shirt on, though.

Slowly, he sits up straighter buttoning his jeans, “my shirt’s ruined,” he mumbles. After he takes it off, Theo’s already offering him another one. Stiles looks down at it skeptical and with a raised brow, and then at Theo who smirks.

“It’s okay, you can give it to me next time,” he says. His tone is so casual, so sure and so conceited Stiles actually scoffs. He does take the shirt though, looks Theo up and down and puts it on while opening the truck’s door, ready to leave with his ruined shirt in hand. Stiles turns around to face Theo who closes the door and leans against the truck, arms crossed over his chest. “Honestly, what makes you think there will be a next time?” Stiles asks, raising his chin defiantly.

Theo lets his arms fall and his mouth twitches trying to control the smile there, “well it’s the polite thing to do,” he says lightly, again with that slight sarcastic tone of voice, takes a step towards Stiles “you kinda owe me one,” he finishes.

Stiles frowns and then realization colours his face and his eyes drop to Theo’s crotch. There’s still a bulge there. _Shit_ , he didn’t-? Stiles’ expression goes blank for a moment, his mouth parting before a frown settles, “Shit, I thought-” but Theo interrupts him with a shake of his head and a little smile. His hand comes up to Stiles’ face, thumb and forefinger taking his chin gently. Softly he pecks Stiles’ lips.

“Next time,” he whispers against them. His hand drops and without turning away from Stiles he reaches for the handle of the driver’s door. “There’s a little sex devil in you, Stiles,” he says, smiling at Stiles as he opens the door. “I intend on making it come out to play with me properly,” with the dirtiest, cheekiest most provocative wink Stiles has ever seen, Theo gets in his truck and closes the door to start the car.

It takes him a second of watching as the truck maneuvers to leave to collect his thoughts. They’re not very coherent right now, and amongst the general _what the hell just happened_ and replays of the whole ordeal that make his gut turn and his cheeks heat up he does make himself start towards his jeep. That was _a lot_ he just found about himself and his… likings. And he doesn’t really want to admit, but Theo’s promise makes that buzz in his blood return with a hint of excitement that almost converns him.

He’s halfway on the way to his jeep when suddenly “Stiles?” a voice calls, and Stiles stops startled, jerks his head around.

Liam’s there. _Liam_ , looking at him confused with worried eyebrows rising up in his forehead and two gym bags in his hands. Two gym bags?

“Stiles, your bag-” he says rising, yes, _Stiles’_ gym back. Fuck, he dropped it and totally forgot about it. “What are you still doing here?” Liam asks, all confusion.

Stiles mouth opens and closes as he’s searching for the words. Shit, shit, shit, what did Liam see? Did he see- Once again Stiles’ head jerks around to the entrance of the parking lot; Theo’s truck is already making its way down the road. “I-uh,” Stiles starts, looking back at Liam again. He decides to just walk towards the kid to take his bag and shove his incriminatory shirt inside. “What are _you_ still doing here?” turning the question around seems like a valid choice.

Liam gestures vaguely to the school building, “Went with Mason uh-, he had my homework and my mom’s coming to pick me up-” Liam sounds confused, looking at Stiles’ chest. He squints and Stiles frowns back equally confused.

“Is that-” Liam starts, “are you wearing a Devenford Prep shirt?”

Stiles feels his blood leave his face as he looks down at himself. He is indeed wearing a Devenford Prep shirt. Oh shit. Oh _shit_ , that bastard.

“Where did you get that?” Liam asks, even more confused. Gripping the strap of his gym bag, Stiles puts it over his head across his chest and looks at Liam again. Fuck, he’s so fucked. Reaching into his pocket he grabs his keys. How is he supposed to get out of this one?

“I-uh,” nothing, absolutely not a single explanation that doesn’t involve the words _I almost fucked their team’s pretty boy_ comes to mind, and when those do, the heat goes back creeping up his neck to his cheeks. “I found it on the floor,” Stiles says rising his eyebrows, then turns around to practically run to his jeep. “What-?” the younger boy starts, but Stiles throws a loud “Goodnight, Liam!” over his shoulder as he reaches his jeep before finally opening the door and throwing his gym bag in, getting inside himself. He sighs. He’s so lucky that wasn’t Mason.

With both hands gripping the wheel, he looks at the rearview mirror at a very confused Liam shaking his head and moving slowly towards a car approaching on the other side of the street.

Stiles swallows and looks at himself on the mirror.

Well. _Fuck_.

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> [ come scream at me on tumblr also](https://http://whereshiphappens.tumblr.com/)


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